


Confusion leads to distraction

by LifeisIntriguing



Series: It leads to... [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeisIntriguing/pseuds/LifeisIntriguing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Sherlock understand his new life with John, can he decipher Lestrade's case and who sent the photo in the post? M/M J/S Slash warning. 3 cases min . Follows "The Holmesian Denial".</p><p>Will become more explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Researching

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to "Curiosity leads to Truths" and follows "The Holmesian Denial"
> 
> It is Sherlock and John slash fiction and all action and events from here on are according to them. Enjoy! (I wonder what they have in store for us)
> 
> I do not own the characters and nor can I get them to do something they do not wish to do.
> 
> Thanks to my Beta Reader, CrypticNymph.

A few weeks had passed since Sherlock had forced John to admit to feelings towards men, and he was feeling a lot happier with life. Mrs Hudson had made the odd comment in passing on how he looked happier in "open love", which he dismissed, of course. People at work kept asking if he had a new girlfriend, and whilst he didn't feel ready to tell them he had a thing with a guy, they knew he was taken and didn't pry.

"A thing with a guy..." he thought, still unsure how it had happened; he wasn't sure what the correct term was and he wasn't sure he wanted to group them under anything specific.

He was lying on the sofa listening to Sherlock banging around in the kitchen, dreading what he was going to find when he finally forced himself up after his quick nap. A nap that hadn't been intended, but Sherlock had kept him up most of the night after exploding the microwave, again. Normally John would have left Sherlock to clear up the mess, but somehow he had caused the glass to shatter and a strange brown/green substance to cover every surface. Sherlock himself had only been wearing a normal shirt and trousers, and when he had been blasted by the glass, he had managed to cut himself quite badly. John had had to stitch up a small arm wound with a special to hand first aid kit that John had personalised for Sherlock. Sherlock refused hospital treatment, unless he was unconscious with no note or bleeding copiously and needing additional blood. John was glad Sherlock had ended up with him as a flatmate; he was much less likely to accidentally die now.

So, John had ended up lying on the sofa, discovering that the only way to get Sherlock to lie down for a while was to coerce him on to the sofa and hold him down. Which had worked, until John had fallen asleep and Sherlock had carefully wriggled free. He had woken up to more banging and he hoped nothing big had happened again. Sherlock was bored; so was John as a matter of fact. Sherlock was bored of no cases; John was bored of not being able to use the kitchen without worrying.

John's phone beeped- Mycroft. _"Stop him combining the second test tube with the fourth test tube, with haste. Mycroft Holmes."_

John immediately jumped off the sofa shouting "Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked up from the kitchen table, the exploded mess had mostly vanished and Sherlock had abandoned his shirt as the Bunsen burner heated up the kitchen unbearably. He also had long rubber gloves on as he carefully held a test tube over another.

"John?" Sherlock replied calmly, slightly annoyed at being disrupted.

"Please stop." Sherlock look surprised, glanced at the test tubes in front of him and then at the phone in John's hand.

"If I must." John relaxed slightly. "Tell Mycroft to stop spying on me." Sherlock walked over to the fridge, pulled a magnet off and chucked it in the bin. "That's better, no more Mycroft."

John stared, "How long has that been there?"

"About two weeks, Mrs Hudson gave it to us, I obliged her by putting it on the fridge, and the bug has been there for eleven days. Must he always interfere?"

"What would have happened?" John was worried but curious.

"Just a small reaction, though I wonder if the test tube would survive." He looked grumpy. "Interfering little –" He walked into his bedroom and John was glad he hadn't heard the end of that sentence.

John decided to voice his worries before Sherlock created a diversion again. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?" came the bored and disgruntled reply.

"How much did Mycroft see with that bug?"

"Does it matter? Mycroft has levels of self-discipline. I'm sure he doesn't want to have the image of us performing acts on each other," He stopped to smirk, very aware how awkward John was now feeling due to his carefully worded sentence. "engrained on his retinas." He reduced his voice to a low purr like drawl and continued, more directly, slowly and measured. "I mean, he wouldn't want to watch me push you against the wall, carefully kissing your neck grazing your hard nipples with my teeth and slowly licking and kissing down to your navel. Then slowly cupping your balls and teasing that sensitive flesh underneath. Before finally giving in and releasing you from your restricting leg wear and taking your hot, red, hard, ready cock in my mouth and sucking hard and sudden, licking the top with a flick with my warm, wet tongue and making you come, hard and fast." As Sherlock had been talking, his eyes had been trailing the areas he was talking about.

By the time Sherlock had finished saying teeth, John had started reacting. He had closed his eyes and imagined it happening as he tried to block the same image. He was panting slightly as Sherlock finished talking, the pressure building in his cock, begging for release, begging to be touched. His eyes were still clamped shut when Sherlock lazily traced a line down his body starting by his neck and stopping just above his waistband. He only had a thin t-shirt on as the flat was so hot thanks to Sherlock, so the lightest touch was all that was needed. He gasped at the touch and moaned as his finger had drifted by his waistband. He hadn't heard Sherlock move, but suddenly he was behind John and stroking his buttocks, skimming the sensitive area and causing him to buck forward.

He loved these moments, when all of Sherlock's attention was on him, causing reactions in new and exciting ways. John's role was to hold out as long as possible and Sherlock's was to make him come before the appropriate time. It was a fun game even if it was very experimental and he was sure Sherlock was making notes somewhere.

"Sherlock" John moaned as Sherlock's hand had moved from his buttocks. "Sherlock!" he shouted gasping as Sherlock firmly massaged his painfully hard cock.

"Yes John?" Sherlock breathed in his ear "Should I stop doing this?" He squeezed and John thrust forward as Sherlock pulled his hand away.

"No!" John panted "No!" his eyes bursting open.

"Given in then John? Given in?" Sherlock allowed John a split second of annoyance at his words and no longer being touched before he lazily lifted up Johns T-shirt, drawing slow circles before roughly pulling it up. Sherlock finally had John bare-chested so he started to kiss at John's neck, grazing at his nipples with his teeth before nudging down to John's waistband and using his nose to drag along the top. John was biting his lip knowing what was coming next and trying desperately to not let the thought dissolve his resistance to the impending orgasm. Sherlock licked his lips as he started to undo John's trousers and John thrust, but Sherlock grabbed his hips and held him still. John was sure was going to draw blood, it was taking all his military training to stop himself freeing his cock and shoving Sherlock on to it.

"Sherlock," he moaned as he was finally freed. Whenever Sherlock thought John was gaining a hold, he would stroke a random part of John's body. He had smirked at Johns pants, the precum making them wet and slightly sticky. He slowly pulled the pants free, carefully dragging the material, slightly cruelly; John was now unable to resist bucking at the slightest movement on his body. Sherlock knew that if he didn't hurry then he would get an early release from John and it would end up on him. He didn't mind swallowing it, but he wasn't so keen on it smeared over his face and chest.

Sherlock stuck his tongue out as John involuntarily thrust as he was freed from his pants and as it neared his face, gave the end a small prod. John shouted as the sensation flooded him. "Sherlock!" he gasped warningly, informing him urgently that he was about to get a sticky face. Sherlock grimaced slightly and then calculatingly stared at the almost bursting cock in front of him. He carefully slid on, moving with Johns thrusts and sucked once. Johns hand clamped down on to Sherlock's hair and he came hard and fast.

After a moment to collect his thoughts, John glared down at Sherlock, who was sitting back on his feet a slightly disappointed look on his face.

"Bit quick there John, I knew that talking it over was effective, but that effective?" he looked up at John thoughtfully, "Was I in your dreams at all? After all, you fell asleep holding me. I suppose that could have raised chemical levels and speeded up reactions." He didn't look convinced, "Or maybe the panic of being spied on bolstered your adrenaline, which brought you closer the orgasmic edge."

John stared at him in slight disbelief.

"Sorry John, I'll keep my observations to myself. I thought these might intrigue you too. I need to do some research."

"Am I research Sherlock?" John demanded suddenly.

Sherlock looked up at him blankly, "Yes John, but research so I can improve your experience." He stood up and John saw that he hadn't gotten hard at all. He looked up at Sherlock and then stormed off into the bathroom. Sherlock watched him go, rather confused. Honesty was good, John had said. Experiments and research were just how he made sense of things. John was provoking a lot of questions that only John could answer by letting Sherlock continue.

He was still trying to work out what he could say when he heard the bathroom door open. He started towards it but heard John running downstairs, so he crossed to the window and stared thoughtfully at John as he crossed the road and headed for a tube.

Behind him his phone beeped. A text from Lestrade. Sherlock glanced briefly in the phone's direction, and then went back to watching John walk away.


	2. Enter in Lestrade and solve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! It is a mixed emotions chapter and we find out a little bit more about Lestrade!

Lestrade was used to almost instant replies, so when he had had no reply after two hours, he got in his silver BMW and drove to Baker Street. Mrs Hudson let him in- he was rather worried that he had had no reply. "He's been very quiet," she had remarked as he made sure he went up alone.

He found Sherlock in the darkness; he had drawn the curtains and was sitting slumped in a chair staring at the ceiling. Lestrade was worried for a split second, before he saw Sherlock's steady breathing and frowning, moving mouth.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned gently.

Sherlock raised his head to look at Lestrade, his eyes wide, like on another plain of thought. "Ah, Lestrade. How can I help?"

Lestrade paused, prioritising, he needed a Sherlock on top form. If he hadn't seen any sign or smell of drugs, he would have suspected they had a part, which meant…. "Where's Dr Watson?" If he had expected a flippant reply, he didn't get one. Sherlock's frown deepened.

"He went out."

"Out?" he gently probed.

"Moodily, but I don't know why, I was just being completely honest." Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes and settled for biting his lip.

"About what?"

"I told him he was research."

"Research?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly to a more normal size and Lestrade wondered if he was asking too much, getting too personal.

"Yes, but only to improve his experience." Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock pre-emptively continued. "The orgasm and the build-up. Sex." Sherlock ran his hands across his face and through his hair. "Urgh."

Lestrade didn't know what to say. So, Sherlock and John were at it. They had joked about it in the office, but no one really took it seriously. Now, here was Sherlock clearly way out of his depth in some kind of relationship, at least of a sexual nature with John Watson. Lestrade was quite sure that it was the emotions confusing Sherlock though.

"If you need to talk…" he began awkwardly. He didn't have the best track record and had once fantasised about a long term relationship, having five children, maybe more and playing football with them in the garden. He had been quite good when he was younger, but he was sure he could still play. He hadn't had a vaguely lasting relationship for months. He had some on-off people over the years, but women and men were both as unreliable as the other. He was quite liberal, he knew he had some looks but he rarely had the time or energy for fun, let alone a relationship. So, he has settled on work and the odd wank to porn when the mood arose, even one night stands were too much hassle. Plus it didn't really fit with his role at Scotland Yard.

Sherlock was looking like a bit of a lost puppy, albeit tall, lanky and not young. Sherlock said nothing, so Lestrade decided to keep talking.

"With people we care about, uh, sometimes it helps to not tell everything. Labelling John as research likens him to a test tube or some bacteria."

"But they are fascinating and worth my time."

Lestrade bit back a retort. "John is more complex, Sherlock."

"To an extent."

"Don't tell him that." Sherlock nodded slightly. Lestrade didn't know how to handle Sherlock like this. He wanted snappy, fast thinking, pain in the arse Sherlock back, for once. "Got much research then?"

"With John? Twenty two, plus twelve alternative observations unexplored." Lestrade laughed slightly.

"When did it start?"

"Just before that Diane Halburt case." Lestrade's eyes widened slightly. Twenty two times in less than a month. John Watson was a lucky bugger. He floundered slightly.

"So, uh, do you, erm, emotions?" he ended lamely.

"Do I love him?" Sherlock was slowly getting back to the Sherlock he knew well. He sat up a bit straighter. "Love? What is Love?" he sounded haughty "How can I define it and see if John fits in? How can I put John into something everyone else can understand when I do not understand it myself?"

"Taking up playwriting?" Lestrade teased. Sherlock fixed Lestrade with a calculating glare. His eyes drifted piercingly down his body. Lestrade wondered and not for the first time, what Sherlock would be like in the bedroom. He caught himself as Sherlock's eyes drifted up from his crotch, to his chest and then to his face. He was slightly worried about what Sherlock was thinking, so he coughed pointedly and Sherlock blinked in surprise. He was apparently surprised Lestrade was resisting his glare. "Look Sherlock, I'm here about a case."

Sherlock sat up straight, steepling his fingers under his chin and crossing his legs. Lestrade took this as a cue to speak.

"So far, we've had two murders. Simple stabbings- one in North London, one in South London. Both were wounds to the stomach. A small cross has been scarred post death on the cheek. They happened one day apart. John mentioned a few days ago you need some work."

Sherlock, who was posing as deep in thought, looked up, surprised.

"Yes, so get ready and come with me now. In my car." Sherlock started to protest "Now! Sherlock!"

Sherlock scowled slightly but headed off to his bedroom, pulling off clothes as he walked so Lestrade saw his lean but fit body. He bit his lip hard to distract himself from the thoughts Sherlock had started to cause earlier with his calculated stare at Lestrade's crotch.

He walked over to the window and stared out thinking about the last time he had had sex. "God," he thought to himself "has it really been that long?"


	3. The Satnav

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee one

After a few minutes Sherlock had reappeared and they had set off. Lestrade had given up trying to convince him to not play with his Sat-Nav very quickly, and it now seemed to be giving him directions to Timbuktu in Kurdish.

When they finally reached their destination it was speaking in what sounded like Cantonese, giving him directions to Bristol Airport, and his home address had been changed to New Scotland Yard. Sherlock wasn't born to make jokes thought Lestrade, but the changing of his home address was quite appropriate. It was a slightly sad thought, but then, what was Lestrade to do? He didn't really have any hobbies any more, work was his life. He did feel that sometimes it would be easier just to sleep on the floor of his office.

He didn't think he needed Sherlock for this case, but John's text had definitely been correct. Sherlock needed this before he caused a lot of damage to John and himself.

As they pulled into his parking space, Donovan appeared. "Sir, there's been another one." She glanced at the passenger seat and scowled.

"Right, get in Donovan." She frowned slightly at having to sit in the back but climbed in, barely shutting the door before Lestrade had started reversing. "Where is it? How long ago?"

"Near Victoria. A little road off Warwick Way." Lestrade put his foot down slightly and Donovan coughed a little, making him slow to the speed limit.

Sherlock turned up the collar on his coat, slunk down in his seat slightly, shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out of the window, thinking of John. He fingered his phone, wondering whether he should text him, but concluded John wanted space. Emotions and feelings, he confirmed to himself, were more hassle than they were worth. And yet, John's face when Sherlock had mentioned him as research worried him. He hoped that when he got home after the crime scene John would be sitting drinking tea and watching rubbish TV, or updating his blog with his strange one fingered typing. As they turned into Warwick Way, he focused on what Lestrade had told him about the case. "Hmm," he thought "I must check their hands."

Lestrade glanced over at Sherlock "Good," he thought "He's perked up slightly."


	4. Passing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another wee one

Sherlock had quickly dismantled the scene; the victim, a young business woman, once more had a stab wound to the stomach and a cross drawn on her cheek post death. He'd found several boring and pointless facts as ever, but today he couldn't be bothered to impress, especially with no John around. He sighed. "There is nothing here worth my time! Why did you bring me?"

Lestrade hesitated, "John texted and said you needed work. I agree with him actually. I need anything you can give me. We've found nothing that can lead us to the murderer."

"Serial killer. Need to wait for a mistake. Are we done?"

Lestrade looked at him, concerned, but didn't let it show on his face or in his words. "Yes, I'll get some files sent round for you to look at. Need a lift?"

Sherlock looked at him with disdain, "I can manage on my own." And with that he turned and stalked off.

"Of course you can," muttered Lestrade, watching him go. He got out his phone and texted John. "You need to explain what's wrong to him. He's not being himself. – Lestrade"

John had ended up angrily walking to Hyde Park and then he just kept walking. He felt lost, confused and agitated. He had had suspicions of course, but to actually come out and say it? He felt belittled. Of course, if he was research then there would be more, lots more, he'd have to keep it fresh, keep changing, keep developing. But what would happen when Sherlock finished his tests? He'd get bored and find something new. John would get cast aside. He had known it of course, but he had been avoiding thinking about it.

He was sitting drinking tea in St James' Park when Lestrade's text had come through. He looked at it and sighed. He couldn't be too harsh on Sherlock, he did seem to care for John, at least slightly and he was just liked a confused but super intelligent teenager. In John's mind, an image flashed before him: a spotty teenage Sherlock skulking in a corner and not understanding why his body was reacting when his brain was not instructing it so. Flicking through images of naked people and not understanding exactly why people were attracted to them and why people, "normal people", Mycroft and Mummy excluded, expected him to fall head over heels for some "bird" or- after he had shown no interest in them- with a guy. John shook his head; that image felt all too real.

He sipped his tea, maybe it was time to have that little chat, explain what they both wanted. John drained his cup of tea and then slowly walked to the nearest helpful tube station. By the time he had been hustled and bustled out of Baker Street Tube Station, he was almost sure of what he would say to Sherlock.


	5. The Return to Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite proud of this chapter, so please tell me if you like it too.

John paused outside 221B then slid inside. He half felt like he was on some sort of a mission- a rather worrying and personal one. As he reached the bottom step, Mrs Hudson appeared, look at him with concern.

"I heard him come back but I haven't heard a peep since. I'm worried about him, I've never seen him in such a state!"

John gave her a concerned smile, "I'll go talk to him Mrs Hudson, don't you worry- and make sure you let me know the results of that show tomorrow! I'll pop in for tea if that's alright?" John was ignoring the problem at hand, but the only way to completely ensure that there was no-one listening at the doors was to head her off now and promise to have a chat the next day. She had their best interests at heart, but he was paranoid enough about bugs without having to worry about Mrs Hudson too.

"Of course dear! You go and sort him out. Stop him from damaging my flat!" John looked worried, bid Mrs Hudson goodnight and then ran up to the landing, listening carefully to determine where Sherlock was. It transpired after a quick search that Sherlock was lying fully clothed on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Any nice stars out tonight?" he muttered from the doorway. Sherlock jumped slightly and John smiled softly at the rarity. "Mind if I join you?" Sherlock shook his head slightly and felt the bed sink next to him. John took his hand and Sherlock felt even more confused, but it felt good, it seemed John was no longer angry.

"John," Sherlock said after a moment, his voice thick and tentative, sounding like he hadn't spoken for hours.

"Hush," John replied soothingly stroking Sherlock's hand with his thumb. "It's my turn to talk." Sherlock gulped but said nothing; both of them still staring at the ceiling in half darkness. "I'm not gonna lie to you Sherlock, it hurt, the realisation and pure truth, hurt." He paused, listening as Sherlock's breathing stopped completely. "Nobody wants to appear less than they are, they need a meaning." He heard Sherlock open his mouth slightly. "I understand," he interjected before words formed in defence, "that this is how you work, how that strange idiotic head of yours," he paused, calming himself slightly, "works. I just need to know that under this pretence, there is something more."

Sherlock's mind raced. John was being very understanding and that was such a John trait, relief washed over him and tears sprung to his eyes before he was aware they were coming. He blinked them hurriedly away. "John," his voice sounded as though it was laced with emotion and John turned his head slightly to see a tear sliding down Sherlock's face glint in the fraction of light seeping in from the hallway. He showed no sign of having seen it however, just kept a tight hold on Sherlock's hand. "You, are the greatest mystery I have ever found and" he paused, raw emotion preventing his mind working at the speed he required. "I can't unravel you like DNA or plot your movements like a cat or amoeba. I try to understand you the way I understand others, objects or people and I can't! I struggle John, but the, the emotions are so strong and I can't identify them, so I do as I must, I need to understand you John, you keep surprising me, I feel like you are my biggest mystery and yet it will take months to understand you for a second. I'm not used to this, but every time I press forward even a fraction, it feels so good and empowering and worth my time that I cannot wait for the next part; to try a new idea! And it is all for you, because it is your reaction and your enjoyment that makes it feel worth it." He turned his head slightly and looked at John.

John looked at him, seeing fear and innocent confusion staring out and felt convinced. He may be Sherlock's biggest case to solve but Sherlock was so enraptured that John was sure, by the time he had made a big enough leap towards the known, they would have moved on emotionally and perhaps to pastures new. John was also sure that being with Sherlock would be until one of them died, or at least had to move on. This did not seem to be any time soon, especially as emotions seemed to be impairing Sherlock's normal rate of progress and he seemed to want to try out every variation he could think of. John thought perhaps it was time to push things still further.

"Sherlock," Sherlock panicked slightly at the thought that he had said the wrong thing, rushing through every sentence he had just said in a haze of random words and phrases. "I want us to go further. I want to," John paused, wondering how best to phrase it. "I want to be inside you and I want to feel you inside me."

Sherlock's mind crashed slightly with relief as he quickly worked through what John has said whilst running through several variations on what John had requested.

"Sherlock." He turned to face John fully. "I want to be in you now." Sherlock gaped slightly for a second and then registered the lust resounding in John's words and he nodded, pushing in for a kiss, the gentle start soon leading to a clash of tongues, longing, lust and understanding coursing through both of their bodies. Painfully hard but unaware of the pain as the joy of being reunited completely pushed them together, bugs and Mrs Hudson forgotten as clothes and buttons were tugged off in an emotional frenzy, after much confusion and batting away of hands without losing lip contact they were both topless, grinding against each other through the fabric of their trousers, half moaning into the kiss, breathing no longer a priority, the need and bodily desire only to be as one.

John was on top, rare as Sherlock generally took control but tonight John wanted to hear Sherlock beg, to hear him moan to be touched, to be caressed. He wanted to hear Sherlock cry half with pain and half with joy as he thrust them close to the crescendo.

John reached down between them and cupped Sherlock through his trousers, he moaned himself at the contact and jutted slightly as Sherlock also moaned into the never-ending kiss. Sherlock thrust into his hand as he pushed his hand firmly along the length through the rich material. Sherlock was struggling to breathe by this point, one hand wrapped tight to John's buttocks and the other to the back of John's head, breathing didn't seem a priority until John pointedly broke the kiss and he found himself close to hyperventilating.

John scrambled off the bed and as Sherlock worriedly glanced at him, he pulled some lube and condoms out of his jacket pocket. Sherlock paused his usually frenzied mental processes as his brain eagerly recognised what John held, before frantically pulling off his trousers and pants and flinging them anywhere. Carefully putting the lube on the side table John handed the condom packet to Sherlock to take one out, he did so by ripping the whole packet apart and spilling the lot all over his chest in desperation. John took the opportunity to rid himself of all remaining clothing before sliding up Sherlock's body, kissing up his legs, starting with his ankles, as he reached the thighs the wriggle had become small thrusts and Sherlock's hands were clenched against the sheets. "John!" came Sherlock's cry, a desperate warning to John that he was close, so very close to his edge.

John knelt back slightly before using his nose to trace along the sensitive flesh beneath and then trailing kisses up to the leaking helmet of Sherlock's cock, licking off the pre-cum and wetting the entire length as Sherlock thrust. John snaked his hand teasingly up Sherlock's chest till he reached a condom, he tore it open and rolled it on, moaning at his hand's touch. Sherlock felt a brief pang of regret that he hadn't moved to help John but he was too distracted by the blissful look in John's eyes.

John paused and looked down at Sherlock, "Are you sure?" Sherlock nodded without thinking and shifted, bringing a pillow underneath to prop himself up. John hid his nerves as he picked up the lube and slowly drizzled it over both of them. Sherlock stared at him, eyes wide and sweat already starting to plaster his hair to his head. John stroked him slowly, relaxing him and gently fingered around his hole, Sherlock nodded slightly and John slipped a finger in. Sherlock's head shot back and his mouth fell open, the tight muscles reacting in a way he wasn't expecting, but it felt good.

John flushed as he moved his finger slowly, feeling Sherlock get used to it and relax around him, the guttural groans forcing blood to his groin. He slipped another one in and Sherlock gasped loudly. "Another John!" Sherlock half shouted, "you're, ah!" John knew he wasn't ready so the third finger was a surprise, he could feel Sherlock rocking into his gentle movements, the blood pulsing hard through his body, hampering thoughts and the basic desire overwhelming. He withdrew his fingers and Sherlock looked up at him eagerly. "Do it. Hard, I can take it."

John lined himself up, stroking himself slightly, biting his lip, the anticipation great, it was like the moment had frozen in time, their eyes locked, arousal and expectation shared between them and then John pushed in slightly, both of them gasping slightly. It felt so tight, so full, Sherlock shifted and John pushed carefully all the way in, Sherlock was trembling slightly, at least, John thought it was Sherlock trembling. He pulled slowly out and then thrust in fairly measured. Both men groaned, John hitting Sherlock's prostrate straight off and Sherlock's hands clenched into the bed sheets, arching up slightly and pushing John in further. John shifted his position slightly and started moving at an easy pace, loving the look of pure lust beaming out of Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock slid a hand down and started to massage himself in time to John's movements. John tutted slightly and roughly took control.

Sherlock's moans were growing louder, he was yelling at John, telling him to go harder, faster, right there, yelling John until his yells became half words and he found himself cumming hard, tightening around John's cock. John panted and as he felt Sherlock's muscles tightened he thrust twice more and then felt the ripples of orgasm rushing through his body.

Once they had both caught their breath slightly, John slowly and awkwardly withdrew, seeing Sherlock wince slightly. He wriggled round until he was lying with his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock nuzzled slightly into his hair and John obligingly kissed him.


	6. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of a few short chapters, sorry. Sherlock needs to stop being so concise!

Sherlock woke first the next morning; woke happy. He rolled over and groaned in pain. John stirred slightly and he held his breath; John needed more sleep then him. He was now acutely aware how frantic they both had been, how desperate he had been for John to be inside him. It had felt so good though! He smiled softly at the memories; John telling him he understood, that he wanted to be inside him, their feverous clash together. He wriggled closer into John, breathing in his soft scent, sparking off more memories. He draped his hand over John's chest and drew lazy patterns. John yawned but didn't open his eyes "Sherlock, do you have to dig into my back like that?"

"It's a normal bodily reaction, John."

"That's not what I asked."

"I can always sort it out. Don't move." John's eyes shot open as Sherlock removed his hand from his chest, trailed it slightly down his back and began to stroke himself. For a moment, John thought he was just jokingly doing it, but Sherlock began panting into his ear and thrusting slightly into him. He turned over quickly, pushing Sherlock onto his back, entwining his hand in Sherlock's and pushing it off, he sped up the pace, flicking his thumb over the top and kissing roughly at Sherlock's neck, pressing his own body hard against him. Sherlock groaned slightly in pain and his muscles began to clench slightly, John registered it and slowed down. Sherlock took this as an opportunity to start helping out John who was grinding without noticing what he was doing. John moaned and dug into Sherlock's neck, biting down hard, harder than normal. Sherlock gasped, losing control over his movements and came hard.

They stared at each other panting for a moment, before Sherlock blinked in surprise.

"Pain?"

"Apparently so."

"You winced earlier?" Sherlock's eyes widened slightly.

"My muscles hurt, we were quite frantic." John kissed him softly.

"Was good though." Sherlock nodded and gave John's cock a quick squeeze.

"Shower?"

"I'd love one."

###### 

Half an hour later they were pottering around the kitchen, John fully dressed and Sherlock in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, the t-shirt sticking to him where he hadn't bothered to dry properly. John was making tea and toast. Sherlock was poking a strange smelling liquid in petri dishes with various utensils and then trying to return them to the drawer. There was a knock at the door and Lestrade entered looking stressed. He glanced at John who nodded with a hint of a smile.

"There's been another one."

Sherlock disappeared instantly, leaving Lestrade and John staring awkwardly at each other. John broke the silence.

"He's back to normal."

"Good, it wasn't right seeing him like that."

"No," John paused, "What's the case?"

"Serial killer, 4th death just this morning. No links apart from the killer's signature mark." John narrowed his eyes inquisitively. "A small cross on the cheek."

"Religious killings?"

Lestrade frowned slightly "We don't think so, we'll look into it more closely though" John nodded slightly.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you, no time. Are you ready to leave?"

John paused, checked his pockets and shook his head, dashing out of the kitchen to Sherlock's room. Lestrade sighed and sat down at the table, looking into the petri dishes and wrinkling his nose in disgust at the smell.


	7. Pushing Personal Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one, once again I encourage you to follow me on twitter (LifeIntrigues) Thanks for reading!

John dashed into Sherlock's bedroom and looked around for yesterday's clothes. "Ready to go?" he asked Sherlock as he spotted his trousers and pulled out his phone, checking it quickly for messages: none and battery: half.

"Mm?" Sherlock murmured standing by his shirts in just pants. "There's no rush, it's not like another murder will happen." He picked out a white shirt and started pulling it on. John frowned slightly. Sherlock pulled his trousers off a hanger, started to pull them on then grimaced as pain shot through his muscles. John rushed over, catching him as he lost his balance.

"Sit on the bed," he commanded and Sherlock obeyed with a small sigh. "Want some painkillers?" Sherlock shook his head as John crouched down and carefully pulled his trousers on for him.

"It's not really that bad, John." Sherlock protested as he stood and finished pulling his own trousers up.

"Shut up," John muttered pulling him down for a kiss, "I'll get the painkillers; you put your jacket on."

Sherlock watched him rush off and sighed. He hated taking painkillers, he liked to be aware of his pain precisely and it was hardly serious, just some sore muscles. He finished buttoning his jacket as John reappeared and turned to refuse the pills.

"Here, no arguments, I am your Doctor." Sherlock nodded reluctantly, swallowed the pills and set off to the kitchen.

###### 

Lestrade jumped up as Sherlock stood in the doorway and told him exactly what he was playing with in the petri dishes. He grimaced and headed for the front door, wiping his hands on his coat even though he hadn't actually touched anything.

###### 

Sherlock jumped in the front of the car and looked disappointed to discover that the Sat-Nav wasn't out. He looked at Lestrade, who stared back unimpressed. Sherlock flumped back in his seat and Lestrade smirked slightly, pulling out and driving towards the Docklands.

"Do you really expect to find anything Lestrade?"

"You tell me."

"No, I think it's too soon to discover the pattern and for the mistake to happen. The attacks are too brief." He paused and sniffed. "New aftershave?"

Lestrade swerved slightly. "W-what?"

"You have a date later. You never wear this. Who's the unlucky person?"

"Sherlock." Lestrade muttered warningly.

"Fine, don't tell me. I'll find out tomorrow anyway." Lestrade blushed slightly and focused on driving. John stared at him. He didn't know much about Lestrade, not much at all. He might have to question Sherlock later about him; after all, he had known Lestrade for a few years. Sherlock stared out of the window smirking until they arrived at the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who do we think the date is with? Who don't you want? Who do you want?
> 
> Thanks to my great Beta Reader CrypticNymph!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Progress

Sherlock marched carefully onto the crime scene, his usual imperious long stride and fast pace hampered by the desire not to push his muscles into taking longer to recover. He felt like a wimp, but his muscles really weren’t used to such abuse, however good the rest of him felt. He framed his stance as “bored as nothing can be gained from being here” and let John carry out a search of the body instead, as he was a “medical man”.

John crouched down and tried to impress Sherlock with what he had learnt. There wasn’t much to find, as Sherlock had predicted. There was nothing new or different to the previous victim except a slightly larger wound in both directions.

They gave their findings to Lestrade, who looked disappointed but unsurprised, and then took a taxi towards Baker Street. John got out early to do the weekly shop, letting Sherlock off on medical grounds but rolling his eyes after he drove away. He had tried forcing Sherlock shopping a couple of times, but had ended up dragging him from the toy aisle. Apparently, HaaHoos are one of the most fascinating things in the world to the great Sherlock Holmes. When he had ever watched “In the Night Garden” John had no idea. He sighed and pushed a trolley into the hustle and bustle of peak time shopping.

Sherlock returned swiftly to Baker Street; he had just thought up some more of his new violin piece and wanted to try it out. He rushed upstairs and froze, staring at the music stand.

“Mrs Hudson?!” he yelled. “Out.” He stared at the plain brown envelope. A4, no markings visible from this distance. Nothing else was disturbed; it was cheap, unsealed, standard. He paused, staring, before striding over and carefully sliding out the photos that were inside. He sat down quite quickly. Photos like this shouldn’t be blackmail material these days, but then most people in a gay relationship didn’t have Sherlock Holmes’ back catalogue of people out to get him.  
He stared at the top photo, not moving for an hour, just thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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